The Many Sins of Lord Cameron

Changing the decision into one of marrying him was ridiculously easy. She belonged to this man—she was eloping with him. She could do anything she wanted with him.

Ainsley leaned back, encouraging him down with her, and he ended up on top of her on the seat. His weight on hers made her heart hammer with excitement. Ainsley dared stroke his back down to his hips to cup his tight backside under the plaid.

The door slammed open. Ainsley tried to scramble up, but Cameron pushed her protectively behind him while he prepared to lambaste the intruder.

Daniel banged the door shut and more or less fell onto the opposite seat. He grinned at Ainsley, ignoring his father. “So you’re here at last, are ye? Excellent. Now we’ll have some larks.”

The next morning, Ainsley Douglas stood in the parlor of Hart Mackenzie’s London townhouse and married Lord Cameron Mackenzie by the special license he’d obtained before he’d even gone to Doncaster. The witnesses were Hart’s housekeeper and butler and the vicar’s wife. Daniel stood at his father’s side, smiling like mad.

Ainsley was sandy-eyed as she repeated her vows, because the train had run through the night, arriving in London early that morning.

Before Ainsley could recover from the shock of the vicar pronouncing her and Cameron man and wife, Ainsley was in a train again with Cameron and Daniel, a heavy gold band on her finger, heading for Dover. Cameron wanted to start the Paris trip right away.

Ainsley was happy to leave England, because, though she and Cameron had legally married, their elopement stood to be the scandal of the decade. An affair Ainsley might discreetly conceal, as Eleanor had suggested, but the sudden marriage of the black sheep of the Mackenzie family to a nobody would be all over the newspapers.

Cameron was not only the brother of a duke, he was heir to the title while Hart remained childless. Despite Ainsley’s mother having been a viscount’s daughter, the McBride family was neither prominent nor powerful, nor particularly wealthy. The marriage would be decried as a misalliance and talked about up and down the country. Particular consideration would be given as to by what means Ainsley had duped Lord Cameron, the notorious womanizer who’d vowed never to take another wife, into the marriage. The queen would have apoplexy.

Therefore, Ainsley was happy to board the train and flee to the Continent. Patrick and Rona, when they received her telegram, would be as stunned and bewildered as the queen.

But Eleanor had been right: Ainsley was no longer a dewy-eyed debutante. She was a respectable widow with experience of the world, making choices with a clear head.

Well, an almost clear head, Ainsley thought as Cameron, having settled the tickets, sat down next to her in the compartment. His large body took up most of the seat, not allowing an inch of space between them. With Cameron, it was difficult for her to be sensible.

Daniel went right along with them, beaming at them from his side of the carriage. Cameron’s usual practice was to leave Daniel with Angelo in Berkshire until Michaelmas term began, when Daniel would return to school. It was the arrangement they had every year, Angelo not wanting to leave England and his family behind, Cameron not trusting anyone else with his horses while he was away. Traveling abroad was risky for a Romany anyway.

But Daniel had begged to accompany them. Ainsley, seeing the lonely desperation in the lad’s eyes, had taken his side. Cameron, already looking out of his depth, agreed.

They broke the journey in Le Havre, where Cameron booked three rooms in the most expensive hotel, one each for himself, Ainsley, and Daniel. When Ainsley pointed out that, now they were married, they could share a bedroom, Cameron gave her an unfathomable look and told her that the rooms were small and he’d take up too much space.

Ainsley thought she wouldn’t mind Cameron filling the space in her bedchamber, but Cameron didn’t give her a chance to argue. In the restaurant that night, Daniel ate with gusto, and Cameron consumed his meal steadily, like man determined. Ainsley found herself jumpy and without appetite.

Later, as Ainsley brushed her hair for bed, Cameron entered her room, closed the door, and locked it behind him.

Ainsley froze, hairbrush poised. She hadn’t seen Cameron alone since Daniel had burst in on them in the train compartment at Doncaster. As though the young man played chaperone, he’d stuck to them until after supper tonight, when he’d bade them a cheerful good night outside the dining room.

Not to go to bed, Ainsley noted. Daniel had strolled off to the lounge, probably to smoke cigars and play cards. Cameron let him without a word, and Ainsley thought it wisest not to interfere on her first night as Lady Cameron Mackenzie.

Lady Cameron. That would take some getting used to.

“Have you settled in?” she asked in a bright voice.

Cameron came to her, plucked the brush from her hand, and laid it on the table. His mouth was hot on her neck as he began unbuttoning her nightdress.

Ainsley half closed her eyes and leaned back against him. “I think all the buttons tonight, don’t you?”

Cameron bit her cheek. His fingers made swift work of the buttons, and he plunged his hands inside her warm nightgown. “I’ve been dying for you.”

Dying. Yes. Ainsley had been burning for him for weeks. They’d sat upright together on the train to Dover, Daniel across from them, and on the ferry they’d watched England recede from the deck, standing side by side but without touching each other. Agony.

Cameron’s blood went hot at the taste of her, so sweet and delectable. Look at her, with the little half smile, her eyes with that wicked gleam. I’m hurting for you, my wife.